


Stirring of the Wind

by masamune11



Series: Once upon a time, in Elibe... [4]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken, Saint Seiya: The Lost Canvas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Past, Crossover, FE7/6 setting with hinted FE8 job system, Gen, Mercenary!Cid, Muteness, Paladin!Sisyphus, Pure AU, Pure SSLC character insert, Sisyphus should have been Sacaean Bowman but he's that knightly archetype so..., mute!ElCid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3428561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masamune11/pseuds/masamune11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was ten, then—old enough to wield his own sword but still too young to defend himself—when he acquainted death, as he heard his guardian grasping for air when his holed-up lungs started to fail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stirring of the Wind

The most vivid thing El Cid could remember from his childhood was his guardian’s back, covering him from the rain of arrows being shot from the top of the mountain range. He was ten, then—old enough to wield his own sword but still too young to defend himself—when he acquainted death, as he heard his guardian grasping for air when his holed-up lungs started to fail. He remembered the sickening crack of his guardian’s crumbling form as it dropped to the ground, the stench of blood quickly filling his lungs and made him vomit yesterday’s meager dinner. The air kept on whooshing past him, which resulted from any missed arrows aimed at him. He passed out afterwards, lying on his own filth.

When he came to, he was already in a small house belonging to the local bishop, cleaned and garbed with some sort of an acolyte-in-training robe. His throat was so parched that it hurt to speak. Gods, he remembered  _trying_ , yet his vocal chord wouldn’t work, and the kind bishop only looked at him sympathetically, telling him that he heard blood-curling scream of a young boy; had it not for his scream, the kind bishop wouldn't even risk himself to go out in the dead of the night.

(They were on the border between Sacae and Lycia, the lawless part where no lord spared any glance. Brigands were the law, and as skilled as the father was, no one could go out alone and expect to return alive.)

The bishop let him stay for a few days to recuperate, telling him that it was part of his calling (and something else related to fate which he never gave a care, even until now). Yet even after days after that fateful day (when the Taliver bandits rushed down the mountain, forcing him and his godparent to flee for their lives), the words wouldn’t form in his throat, and he trembled every time his mind came to that realization. By the time he had come to terms with his muteness, El Cid was already sneaking his way to Lycia, too filled with depression and loss.

Yet he still had his sword and his instinct. They served him his food, the drive to become stronger, the reputation of “Silent Sword”—and another fateful meeting with a knight.

"Ostia could use another pair of hand, you see," that man, the Paladin on his white horse, offered kindly when he should have treated him like another strings-attached mercenaries. "I suppose it is better to serve for the people rather than yourself alone, yes?"

The right thing to do then was to nod his head in agreement, because it was exactly what his godparent would have wanted. Yet his loss echoed still within him, stoking that unforgiving desire to take the lives of the people who brought him hell. So he shook his head, because knights could not take revenge... and El Cid still had a tab to settle with.

The Paladin seemed to disappoint for a moment, before returning back to his calm composure, “That is a shame, yet I shall say this…” he smiled, and Cid wondered if St. Elimine had blessed this man personally for possessing such light-hearted spirit. “…when you have found it—your reason to fight—Knights of Ostia will be honored to have you. Tell them that General Sisyphus endorsed you, and you will be welcomed.”

Just as quick as their banter, the man was already gone, leaving him in silence and full of thoughts.

* * *

He was surrounded; two wyvern riders on both of his sides, and another wyvern rider… no, it was Rhadamantys the Great Wyvern General himself. All he had was a worn out steel sword and not enough vulneraries to mend his wounds. The wyvern riders were closing in quickly at him, ready to finish him—until that man, with golden tuft hair as if it was graced by the sun himself, suddenly appeared out of the woods, the red tint of his Javelin glinted under the moonlight. His usually-warm smile was strained with fatigue, but the Paladin still looked at him politely. “Well met, Silent Swordbearer.”

He could not let himself stop smirking as he nodded in acknowledgement, his hand quickly caught the blade which that man was able to throw at him. He knew a Lancereaver when he saw one, which made his grin lingered; sometimes it felt surreal to have someone else backing him up, and yet—

—Cid wouldn’t have any other else as his support saved for this man and his fellow mercenaries on hire.

(For better or worse.)

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted from [my tumblr](http://rantoffireflies.tumblr.com/post/109555448993/stirring-of-the-wind-fe7-x-sslc-some-hundred), with minor revision.


End file.
